


Blue's Story

by chains_archivist



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boys in Chains, M/M, Prostitution, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 22:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3545882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Spock is a prostitute. The story of his meeting with Kirk is told by Spock's adoptive brother.</p><p>By Mickey</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue's Story

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this [author/artist], please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).

Spock is gone and it's my fault. *God help me.* I crawled back into Jordan's bed, praying he'd fuck me before he finds out what I've done. I can't believe my pounding heart didn't wake him up. He gravitated to me in his sleep like he always does, tucking me into his arms. Maybe it's the last time he'll ever hold me. His face is on my neck, his thighs are curved up under mine. What will he do to me when he finds out?

All I want right now is the oblivion of being fucked again. I'm cowering in the bed of the man I betrayed, sick with longing to feel him buried deep inside me. *Forgive me, Jordan. I let the bastard human boy take him.* I watched him gather up my brother in his arms and carry him out of here. I didn't even try to stop him.

Jordan's getting hard under my ass. I'm still wet from him fucking me last night. It seems like years ago, but it's only been hours since I left this bed. I could almost believe I'm what he really wants. In my heart I know better. I know I'm getting what he wants to give to Spock.

I've always been Jordan's second choice. The Vulcan was his prize, his pet, and I was an afterthought. Spock came first. Jordan bought him, then later he found me. It doesn't matter. Jordan is everything to me. He *was* everything to both of us; caretaker, lover, pimp. He might as well have given birth to me. I don't remember anything before him. Before him, before Spock and Charles, there's nothing.

"You were begging for food," is what he's told me. I believe him. He doesn't bother to lie. There are things he won't tell you, but he doesn't lie. He found me in the ruins of Geddes Prime, at the edge of the Neutral Zone. He went there to trade when the Romulans fled, before it became part of the no man's land between them and the Federation.

I think it's because I looked like Spock. He probably wouldn't have bothered with me otherwise. We had the same delicate little bodies, high cheekbones, dark eyes, black hair; a pair of little half breeds. I didn't have the pointed ears, my eyes were dark, but not the ebony of Spock's. Mine are dark blue; that's how I got my name. Spock is my brother's *real* name, the one he was given on Vulcan. Romulan seed is mixed into my blood but it's faint. My eyebrows are feathery, but don't slant much. Still, Jordan must have looked at me and seen Spock. Maybe he just wanted a companion for his boy. I'm grateful, either way.

I remember snuggling like a puppy in bed with Spock, feeling full, being warm and aroused. The bed memories are very strong and sweet. My passions were simple and intense: Jordan, Spock, food and touching. I was aware of Charles on the periphery but he wasn't mine to touch.The way I clung to Spock it's a wonder I never smothered him in his sleep. He was my very own *gingerbread boy*, warm and brown and deliciously spicy; he's always smelled like Vulcan spiced tea. I remember what felt like hours of bliss with Spock in my arms and my legs spread under Jordan's toying hands and mouth. Heaven. I was an eager whore from the start. Much more responsive than my Vulcan companion. Constantly horny, eager to please--not much has changed.

Jordan doesn't look that different from twelve years ago. I still picture his long-limbed body stretched out on the bed, a white sheet drawn up to his waist, his rich cocoa-colored hair spread out on the pillow. He wears it short now and looks just as handsome but I sometimes miss the way it used to look, like a rough mane. I remember how exciting it was when he'd come home from a week of trading, waking up in the morning knowing he was there, smelling the coffee that Charles delivered steaming to the bedside table.

Jordan travelled often, that's the trader's lifeblood. When he came home it was better than a holiday celebration. I was a mountain climber, scaling the bed, scaling him. I loved to feel his muscular thigh between my legs

and fall forward on him. It felt so good to be on top of his big body. He would smile and pet my hair, but his handsome face would keep turning toward the door, watching for Spock. More often than not he'd send me to get him. So I'd run back to our room to get the straggler, the one who seemed to treasure any time he could have to himself.

Jordan would hold out his arm to Spock, waiting patiently for him to come close enough to hold. He never looked at *me* that way, not with that kind of yearning. But then, I left nothing to yearn for! I would run to him, hang on him, spend hours holding him if he'd let me. Spock would come to him slowly, then turn liquid and pliant once he was held, like a little cat draped across Jordan's chest. Spock forgot what pleasure was until he was being touched. He never reached for it, never sought it out. Never, until *now.* What agony to see desire finally burning in those beautiful eyes and not to be able to quench it. He wants only the one, the pale human boy who doesn't deserve him. *God, don't think of it now.* Think of *this*. Jordan's getting restless under me, pressing up for someplace to bury his hard cock.

How many years have I been obsessed with Jordan's cock? While he lay in bed I would sit in the well of his thighs, watching him lift Spock across his chest, nuzzling him with kisses, his big hands moving tenderly up and down the length of him. Jordan's cock would swell up under the sheet as he touched the little Vulcan. His erection would lift a tent of fabric in front of me and I'd clutch it. I'd stroke it until his hips started moving.

He taught us very young how to tease, to nurture arousal, and draw it out to the fullest reaches. I knew enough to take my hand away and let his dick reach for me, give a little, let go, play with it and watch for the pre-cum wetness. It was massive, and fascinating to me. My efforts would be rewarded with a glance of lust-filled approval. Once I had that signal, I could put my mouth around the big purplish head and suck, working my lips over the velvety skin, licking the tiny slit with its slippery first liquids. I couldn't fit much in my mouth and for the rest of him I used my hands.

Thinking of it is making my mouth water. I loved the taste of cum and I still do. I guess I was raised to it, like mother's milk to me.

Spock wasn't immune to pleasure. I learned every nuance of feeling in those solemn features, studied every sign of arousal. Mostly it fell to me to make him pliant for a visitor. That's what our tricks were called, visitors. Jordan picked them carefully and charged them a fortune in credits. He or Charles always watched through the transparency wall--crystal clear from the room where we watch and completely opaque on the other, whether the trick knew it or not. Charles watched to protect us.

Jordan, well, he *was* protective, but he was also turned on. Spock never saw a visitor without me until we were older. I would be with him, often holding him or petting him while someone touched us. How many times did he jerk someone off in my mouth? I was, I still am, the master of cum swallowers and if they don't come in my mouth I lick it off their bellies and fingers.

I had my share of devotees, visitors who preferred to be with me. I looked on each one as someone new to please. And there was the bonus of pleasing Jordan by performing well. Most of these men were very easy. More often than not it was over much too soon, they were too excited and ready to come. I liked it best when there were games to be played that drew things out, and I could absorb myself in a fantasy. Jordan or Charles would explain my part in a game and l loved to pretend.

Pretend you are sad and let the man cheer you up. Pretend you are sleeping. My favorite was, pretend he is your father. The *best* father was one of Jordan's fellow traders, a man named Zeke. "Call him father," Jordan told me, "it will make him very happy. He'll have presents for you, and games he wants to play."

I never had to wait for Zeke in the trick room. Jordan would let me go to the front door, buck naked, and scramble right up into his arms. This was so much fun. He was a tall, elegant man, very pale-skinned with dark hair and green eyes, and a close trimmed beard. God, he was handsome. His visits were almost as exciting as Jordan's homecomings--better in a way, because he was there to see *me*. He would call out from the door and I'd take off running.

"Father, you're home," was the eager cry on my lips. And he would say, "I'm home, baby," catching me in his hands and swinging me up to his chest. I needed no coaching for this part, I was born to play it. Whiskery cheeks under my lips, I could bite him and he'd only laugh. He smelled like sweet cherry pipe tobacco and something fresh, like a splash of fragrant water. He had very big, very long-fingered, fine hands, and they would be molding me like clay while he carried me upstairs.

"Did you bring me anything?" I'd ask him and he'd always say--"You'll have to check my pockets." That was how we would begin. He'd stretch his lanky body out on the bed and I would slide my hand into his trouser pocket where I would find both his hard cock and a gift. I loved every trinket he gave me; necklaces, rings, tiny carved animals, but mostly I loved the intimate touching, feeling him through the thin lining of the pocket. His cock was long, like the rest of him. He'd watch me as I drew the pleasure out for both of us, pretending not to find my present while I teased him. "It's not here," I'd swear, running my little fist down the shaft. "It's there, I promise." His voice would be gentle. I'd find the toy, or the jewelry. I'd tell him how much I had missed him (only too true, I'm afraid.) I would say I was getting sleepy and beg him to get into bed with me. Once I was naked and pretending to sleep, Zeke would start making love to me.

"My beautiful boy," he would say, caressing my hard little dick with his long fingers. "I shouldn't touch you like this. I want to kiss you, I want to feel your mouth on me." The part where I woke up was my *own* invention. I did it the first time we were ever together, scared that he might actually *stop*. I opened my eyes and said, "No, father, I want you to touch me." Zeke melted before my eyes and kissed me. "If you want me to, sweetheart, I will." I can still remember how good his beard felt on the insides of my thighs when he was sucking me. God help me, I'm *so* turned on. How can I fuck Jordan without waking him up?

If only Jordan would beat me for letting Spock go. He won't. He'll throw me out. God, if only he would just pick up his belt and beat the shit out of me. He won't. The beatings are a thing of the past. They went the

way of my fascination with knives, with cutting myself. When Jordan discovered the cut marks on my skin he was enraged. He thought some trick had done it. I confessed I'd done it to myself. I started doing it at about the same time he starting fucking Spock. He'd been fucking me for years. I couldn't wait. But he waited until Spock said to him, "I believe it will not hurt me now."

Years of tongue and fingers in my butt, and then Spock's boyish prick. He was my first. I begged him. My beloved Vulcan, what he put up with from me to get a good night's sleep! Many nights he would hold me and lace his fingers through mine to keep my hands still. There were nights he'd grease his finger, wedge it up my ass and leave it there while I fell asleep. Finally I got him to fuck me. It was the middle of night and I couldn't sleep. He woke up with the sigh I knew so well, his cock hard in my warm greasy hand. He put an arm around my neck and pulled me down to his mouth. There never was and never will be another kiss that tastes like his, like the cinnamon tea he drinks, like his cum. I want to cry now. *Spock's mouth.* Not mine to kiss any more. What torture to see his biting passion for someone else's lips. *Stop* It's done. Better to remember what I had. I had more than my share.

Spock liked to kiss before fucking, to fuck first with his tongue. Too gentle, too sweet, the world's most reserved fuck. Up until the *change* he never gave anything but a kind of thoughtful penetration. The best part was just being close to him, having his cum inside me.

But it was, first and foremost, Jordan's dick I craved. I remember the first time I got it inside me. He was in bed with us, under us. Spock was in front of me, facing me, holding my shoulders while Jordan was working on him with his tongue. My beloved brother's face was flushed and his lips were swollen, but not with pleasure--from being kissed and bitten. I wanted to kiss his mouth myself and enjoy his spicy taste on my tongue, but I didn't dare. It was obvious Spock was at his limit of endurance, his very skin radiating resistance. His genitals were swollen too, but only semi-hard despite Jordan's feverish attention to his ass.

I, on the other hand, was burning, panting with effort. My cock was throbbing tight on my belly as I rubbed the slippery head of Jordan's cock up and down my crack. I would stop every few swipes and push it against my asshole, sitting back hard and wiggling on it. I was stroking his shaft in my fist. When Jordan started to writhe under me I planted myself on him and sat back hard with each downstroke of my hand. I saw his head fall back on the pillow, eyes shut tight. That meant he was *mine*, just moaning for me. Spock climbed away as soon as Jordan let go of his hips.

I wanted him inside me so badly and he wanted in--in spite of himself. Oh, he would rub his dick between our cheeks, and he'd come there, but wouldn't even try to penetrate us. I wanted it and he wouldn't give it to me. He'd shake his head or pull me away and use his finger or his tongue to give me the feeling I was craving. But the day finally came when he didn't stop me. He was thrusting up, groaning, and the head went in. It was huge and hot and lodged so tight I couldn't move except to ride it. Jordan's half open eyes were clouded with need as he reached up to brace my shoulder with one hand and hold my face in the other. He gave my searching mouth his thumb and I sucked it and chewed it, moaning around it as the sweet feeling in my ass crested into spasms. And then I felt it, hot liquid, rushing into the pit of my belly as he came.

He was *mine*, still holding me the next morning when I woke up to the sound of Charles whispering, and the smell of coffee. He'd brought it to our room where Jordan had stayed, letting me sleep on the blessed warmth of his belly and chest. Charles, ever faithful servant to Jordan, to us. They say they've known each other since they were children but won't say much else.

Charles has never touched us except to take care of us, washing, dressing, brushing tangled hair, or doctoring. He manages Jordan's affairs, runs his businesses, of which doling out our expensive favors is only a small part. And when Jordan is gone, roaming the trade routes, buying and selling, Charles is always here. I love him. I think he loves me. Like Jordan, he is a native Lakosian and handsome in the same dark-haired, dark-eyed way. But in Jordan you see the mix of other blood that gives angles and sharper planes to the rounded sensual features so common here. Charles is pure Lakosian, tall and naturally well-muscled.

I've never known him to have a lover, male or female. He's a quiet and considerate man.

And, like all of us, Charles adores Spock. They're both so reserved, so alike in that way. Our dark little family. Is that what made the Vulcan crave a fair-haired mate? *Oh God* Don't think of it. Don't. Charles will come in here in the morning. How will he tell Jordan that Spock is gone? What will he say?

As much as I'm hating Jim Kirk, I think Spock might have left here even without him. He has wanted to leave for a long time. Jordan must know it. It's been so long since Spock was content, long before this nightmare. He was growing more and more distant, spending more and more time away from us, more time in meditation.

Jordan was asking something of Spock that the Vulcan could not give. It's hard to know exactly what it was he wanted. Passion? Certainly he knew that it wasn't in Spock's nature to give that. Once it began, once Spock had acquiesced to Jordan's desire to enter him, it became a nightly ritual, sometimes more than once. Jordan couldn't get enough. Our kitchen is our meeting place. All of us love this room that looks out on Charles's exquisite landscaped garden. I've come to understand that we live in a very exclusive part of Lakos City, an old part of the resort, near the harbor. On this street the stone row houses all have walled gardens behind them.

Charles has created a wonderland of trees and flowers. Double doors face the garden and the round wooden table is set close to them. The kitchen is probably as much Charles's domain as the bedroom is Jordan's. It's the place we spend time together--not having sex, eating the food Charles prepares--often using the antique cook's oven instead of the replicator.

I remember how awkward it seemed when Jordan couldn't keep his hands off Spock at breakfast. It must have been in the first week or so when he began to fuck him. The three of us, Charles, Jordan, and I were at the table when Spock came in, freshly showered, wrapped in a soft white robe, his hair still loose. It was a gray morning in early spring, I remember that. The first flowers were blooming in the garden and they looked surprisingly vivid in the mist.

There was nothing unusual about seeing Jordan gaze at Spock, but it was different that morning. He couldn't look away. When Spock sat down, his tea on the table in front of him, Jordan drew his chair up close beside him and turned sideways in it to face him. Charles and I exchanged a brief glance; his avoiding the sight, mine anxious. Charles began to busy himself at some task, getting up from the table. I watched *them*. Jordan was leaning in to kiss the side of Spock's face, one arm across the back of his shoulders and the other moving under the table. Spock's eyes were downcast. The kisses, which would have given me so much joy, were not welcome. I knew he was wishing to be left alone, to drink his tea in peace. But Jordan couldn't leave him alone. Soon he was forcing the Vulcan's head back, hungrily attacking his mouth. At some point Charles left the kitchen. I stayed.

To me, Jordan said, "Clear off the table." I quickly got cups and plates out of harm's way, barely in time for him to lift Spock on to the table, laying him on his back with his ass at the edge. I remember being glad that Charles wasn't there to see Jordan dig his fingers into the bowl of softened butter and slather his dick with it.

Spock looked at me. I'd retreated to the counter, watching. He stretched his arm out toward me, inviting me closer; his brows knitting as Jordan was pushing to get inside him. It wasn't desire that made him reach out for me at times like that. It was partly that he saw how miserable I was to be left out, and partly the need for me to help him bear what was happening. I hung back, afraid of Jordan. I knew he didn't want me to be part of this.

"Blue," Spock urged, "come kiss me." This was how he could defy Jordan, by making a specific demand of me. *Thank you, my brother, for the many kisses you requested. Even though they weren't kisses you wanted, or needed for pleasure--for me, they were sweet.* I cradled his head in my arms, and he hid his lack of pleasure in my mouth. His lips were compressed, opening only to gasp with discomfort when Jordan started thrusting harder.

The months that Jordan was obsessed with fucking him were bad for all of us. Spock was no more than tolerant of being entered. Jordan was miserably aware of how little pleasure the Vulcan was getting in spite of how he tried to make it good for him. I was just plain fucked-up; sickeningly jealous and hurt. More often than not, I couldn't protect Spock, and I couldn't get what I wanted from Jordan. It was my antics with the knife that ended it all, pulling the man away from the boy who didn't want him and back to me.

"You did it to yourself?" Jordan's voice was a whisper of rage. He was still flushed with anger from cursing at Charles who'd delivered me straight from my bath with the evidence of the knife. Jordan had my wrist trapped in his hand. He'd pushed the sleeve of my bathrobe up to see the long thin red lines running down the inside of my arm.

He let go of me and I crumpled on the floor in front of him crying. Charles left. I don't know how long I was crying at his feet but I know I pressed my face on his boots and felt like an ocean of tears were pouring out of me. He never asked me *why* I'd done it.

"Get up," he finally told me. He pulled the bathrobe off me and dropped it on the floor. I watched him unfasten his belt and was terrified. It was clear he was angry and not getting undressed. I'd never been hit, let alone beaten, but I understood the meaning of that belt in his fist.

"Turn around." He stood behind me gripping one of my shoulders hard and brought the leather down like fire on my ass, over and over. And when my legs gave out and I tried to crawl away from him he drove me toward his bed on my knees. Then it stopped and the pain was worse than ever, like a burn exposed to the air.

Even as I cried, my dick was hard and throbbing. Jordan picked me up off the floor and lay me face down on his bed. I felt his hand on the back of my head, stroking my hair, combing it over my shoulder with his fingers and I was pitifully grateful to be touched with gentle feeling once more.

"Don't ever, ever cut yourself again." The rage was gone from his voice, but it was heavy and serious with threat. "I forbid it. Do you understand me?" His hand moved down my back to my butt and I winced when it neared my stung skin, but I was aching for his touch. Jordan's finger slipped inside me. I would have begged for more if I hadn't been afraid to speak. I hid in the pillow, hardly daring to move my hips to even rub my erection on the bed. "When you feel the urge to cut yourself," Jordan said, "come to me and kneel down. You don't have to say anything, I'll take care of it." I felt totally loved, totally protected. It was the most intense fucking I've ever had.

I kept Jordan to his word for awhile, testing him. It was terrifying every time I did it. I'd find him wherever he was and get down on my knees with my eyes closed. He had no real taste for hurting me and it was never as soul-piercing as the first time. But the power he exerted and his attention were enough.

He cured me of cutting myself and I cured him of fucking Spock, at least for a time.

He's waking up a little, I just need to get in the right spot. He's wanting in, pushing with me. *Thank you, God.* He's bearing down and getting on top of me. Is there any sensation so good, so full? I could be part of this bed, crushed to this mattress forever. He's not even moving, just lying here on me with his dick inside me. He doesn't know Spock is gone. He doesn't know he was robbed in his sleep by a stupid human boy. He only knows I'm under him where I belong and it feels good. His hips are moving a little now, wanting me.

I'd waited all my life to see *pon farr*. It was part of what made Spock so special to Jordan, the allure of Vulcan sexuality. Jordan told us stories about the Vulcan Rumairie Festivals where the people would abandon themselves to pleasure. He told us how the mating fever would come. Spock didn't like these stories as much as I did. Even though Jordan called him *Rumairie Child* with obvious affection, Spock remembered how it sounded in the mouths of Vulcans. It's a Vulcan thing, that perfect memory. To him *Rumairie Child* meant unwanted, half-breed, *bastard*.

I thought *pon farr* would be like holidays, birthdays, and sex all wrapped up in one. A mysterious, beautiful package. I tried to make Spock promise he would mate with me. He wouldn't. He never really believed it would happen to him.

"It is a Vulcan thing, Blue. I am not truly Vulcan." He told me this one night in bed, while we were still children. As ever, I was wrapped around his warmth, keeping him from sleeping with snuggling and questions. And, as ever, he was sleepily petting me, trying to soothe my restless little body on top of him. ... God, I'm gonna come soon, thinking of Spock under me, feeling Jordan on top of me now...

"My human blood will stop *pon farr*," Spock said. How wrong he was, how hard it took him! It started like a spark of wildfire and then raged out of control. *My Lord*, we had to chain him to the bed to keep him from hurting himself. His cock was hard for days on end.

I wish it were Jordan burning to mate, fucking me for days. He'll come soon, I know these short hard thrusts. I've soaked the bed. Now he's jammed up as tight as he can get, nothing but spasms. Quiet. He'll move off slowly and go back to sleep.

He's pulling me with him onto my side. I don't deserve to be held so tenderly.

It was all so wrong. Jordan never should have brought those boys here! He did it to punish Spock. That morning we saw the first signs of blood fever but we didn't know what we were seeing. he heat was starting in him. Spock was flushed and restless, radiant with *need*. I remember watching him drinking tea by the kitchen counter, thinking he was the loveliest creature in the universe. Evidently Jordan was thinking the same thing.

It made him bold enough to approach him. Spock was half-dressed in the bottoms of his pajamas, gazing into his cup like it held something more fascinating than tea. He tensed up as soon as Jordan stood beside him. Spock was aroused, I could see his cock was hard under the black drawstring pants but he didn't want Jordan to touch him. The violence of his reaction should have warned us. He knocked Jordan's arm away from him. I don't think he meant to but he dropped his cup into the sink so hard that it shattered. His voice was intense, I could *feel* him reaching for control. "Please, forgive me. I do not wish to be touched."

That's why Jordan brought those boys home. To punish Spock. There's no way the two ensigns could have had enough credits between them to afford to buy him. Men pay a lot for Spock. Jordan must have seen them in the bar and thought they looked prime for teaching the Vulcan a lesson.

He contacted me to say he wanted Spock ready and what he wanted him to wear. Of course what he wanted was what *he* loved to see him in; the ivory-colored silk pants. They tie with a wide sash of satin around Spock's hips and leave his ass completely bare.

My brother always approached the work he did with serious concentration. That night he was at his most stoic, but with a thread of tension. He meticulously groomed himself and dotted his body with scent.

There are, Jordan's told me, religions that incorporate prostitution into their rituals. I could imagine my brother as a temple whore, offering up his body with religious solemnity. His tricks worship him. They love that impassive, unreachable expression on his beautiful face and hunger to see it transformed with pleasure. The flush in his cheeks that night should have been enough to warn me that something was alarmingly different.

I saw how the silk over his crotch was slightly arching. Spock's arousal, slight as it was, should have triggered alarms in my brain. I remember thinking how sexy it was and how unusual. My only excuse is the same useless, selfish thing that always clouds my vision. I looked at him and all I thought about was how I would bury my face in his body the moment I could get him alone.

I was watching when Jordan let the ungodly pair of Federation ensigns into the trick room. I was in the other room watching through the transparency wall, waiting for Jordan. He'd asked me to be there. That's what he likes, to have me lie on the bed in front of him while he watches. *Two* of them! Both of them blond and very young.

Jordan's dick was as hard as wood when he lay down behind me. I was riveted to the sight of the humans discovering Spock. The one called Gary was stupidly grinning, getting undressed, obviously drunk and unsteady on his feet. The other one, Jim, stopped short by the bed. His eyes locked on my brother in serious lust, already claiming him. I could well imagine being struck dumb at the sight of Spock. What shocked me was how my brother was looking back at *him*, like this pink and gold human boy in his silly uniform was the answer to his prayers.

Wasted treasures. Jim Kirk had no idea. There are men who would pay any price to see that look in Spock's eyes, to hear him gasp with pleasure like he did the first time Jim touched him. I was jealous--God only knows what Jordan must have felt. He was hot and restless behind me, like an overeager trick.

Spock seemed oblivious to Gary's fumbling behind him, totally absorbed in winding himself around Jim, kissing him. He was following each kiss open-mouthed seeking more. When Gary tried to put his cock into him, Spock pulled away. He buried himself deeper in Jim's arms. I heard Jim tell his friend to slow down, watched him curl Spock tight to him in one arm, while his free hand gentled and soothed him like a nervous horse that had thrown its rider. And my brother melted. I saw Spock twine his leg around the boy's muscular thigh and shiver with pleasure at being stroked by him, his head thrown back to be kissed the moment Jim's head lowered toward him.

With Jim's hand on his ass, holding him spread for Gary's cock, Spock let himself be entered without any further protest. It was obvious to me which one of these humans he was really fucking, regardless of Gary's dick being in him. He gave him the ride of his life for the sake of the one who was holding him.

As if he couldn't stand the sight of it, Jordan turned me on my belly and dropped his head on my shoulder as he fucked me. My head was turned toward the scene in the next room, I couldn't tear my eyes away. Gary had come. He was lying on his back, his soft cock was wet and hideously pink, his arm thrown across his reddened face and his chest still heaving. He headed into a drunken sleep and ended up dead to the world as the passion play unfolded beside him.

Jim had pulled Spock on top of him, still wrapped in his arms. Their hips were straining as they kissed. I saw Spock pull away and heard his heavy breathing, his voice rough with lust, "In my mouth ... please ... in my mouth."

The sound of him begging made me come. I'd never heard it before, but had dreamt of it often.

Jim groaned but didn't let go of him. He had one hand on my brother's neck forcing him back down to his lips and the other splayed over his ass, shoving him tight to his grinding crotch. Spock thrust at him with the most artless, hungry motions I'd ever seen those graceful hips perform.

I watched Spock shudder and arch, his head whipping back with anguished crying breaths as he came. Jim's climax exploded under Spock's pumping hips. I *felt* how good it was for Jim, stretching his thighs wide, shaking him, as my brother jammed him hard into the bed.

Jordan had pulled away from me and was silent as we watched our Vulcan slowly lick and suck every drop of cum from his lover's body. Jim watched him with dreamy eyes, accepting this awesome attention as if he had a right to it. His gaze said *you're mine.* And it was true. Spock was already bonding to him and we didn't know it. We were baffled by the spectacle in front of us. Our beloved Spock scattering priceless loving caresses, like gold, over the body of an unworthy stranger.

He nursed at Jim's spent cock with incredible tenderness, utterly devoid of any technique. It was so obvious that every touch of his lips and tongue was guided by his own desire to taste Jim's flesh and hold it in his mouth. When the pinkish cock was hard and soaking wet he held it against his cheek, he climbed the shaft with kisses, he used the head of it to trace his own features as if to say everything I am is yours. He sighed and buried his nose in the young man's pubic hair, holding the wet cock curled possessively in his hand. When he began to suck him in earnest, it was turning Spock on so hard to have him in his mouth that he was grinding his hips into the side of the bed.

Jordan didn't speak. He didn't have to. I knew it must be killing him. If it was wrenching my heart, it had to be squeezing his in a vise-like grip.

Worse than the way Spock reverently touched this human boy was to see him quiver when Jim caressed him. The silk pants were long gone and for the second time in one night Spock gave up precious cum, no trick had ever tasted before. He gave it up almost the moment his lover's mouth closed over his cock.

Spock's eyes blazed on Jordan when he entered the room to tell Jim it was time to wake up his buddy and begone. Jim seemed dazed. He looked from Jordan into Spock's eyes. My brother showed no sign of moving out of the human's embrace.

"The man says it's time for me to go." Jim's voice was gentle and his eyes sleepy. "What do you do when you're not working?" he asked Spock.

Jordan replied for him, "This is a business, ensign, not a dating service." I knew he felt even more hostility than his voice betrayed. I thought I could see the wheels turning in Jim's brain, calculating the dangers of an open confrontation, weighing his options and deciding to gamble on charm.

"Right." He drew a deep sigh and struggled up into a sitting position. He had to practically pry Spock's arms from his body to do it. Spock crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself in a gesture I'd never seen. He watched Jim get up, following his every movement with hungry eyes. Gary was roused from sleep and getting him up and dressed claimed most of Jim's attention, though I knew he was aware of my brother's gaze.

If it were a normal "visit" Spock would have been long gone, wrapped in a dressing gown and out the door. It was agony to see him unwilling to be deprived of a moment's view of the blond boy. *Go*, I screamed at Jim in silence as he lingered, I knew he wanted to kiss Spock one more time.

But Jordan interposed his body between them and there was nothing more Jim could do. He nodded at Spock from the door and said simply, "Thank you."

Then he turned and was gone.

Spock did not move. Jordan was quietly seething.

"Have you forgotten everything you ever learned? Are you crazy? That was outrageous, the sloppiest, most unprofessional behavior I've ever seen." He was cloaking his jealous rage in the guise of a scolding. Spock stared back at him, totally unintimidated.

What he said when he finally spoke was, "Leave me." Jordan stormed out and slammed the door. The moment Spock was alone he turned with a groan into the pillow and buried his face into it, pulling it tight into his arms.

He was still in that bed the next morning. Jordan was miserable. He'd submerged his anger and wanted to apologize to Spock. He wanted desperately for him to come out of the trick room where he was still wrapped in the bedclothes that smelled of the ensign's body, clutching the pillow to his face. Neither of us dared to go in there so Jordan sent Charles. "Tell him I'm sorry. Get him out of there."

Charles came back without Spock and joined us at the table. He sighed and shook his head. "He won't come out. I'm pretty sure I know why. I think our boy is entering his first time. It's very, very early by Vulcan standards, but he's starting."

"You're sure?" Jordan was aghast. Charles nodded.

"We talked. I think it's been coming on for awhile. I knew something was wrong but didn't know what it was. Now it seems obvious. The signs have been there. He's been flushed on and off for days now, restless and moody. Yesterday you told me he broke a dish in here, and ... well, what you described from last night ... the fever is coming on."

*Pon farr*. It was nothing like the fairytales he'd told us. Charles had gathered information over the years but Spock's mixed blood made it hard to predict what would happen. There wasn't a reliable guide. The time frame was wrong. Spock was much too young and it was happening much too quickly.

All that day Spock lay in bed, lightly feverish, very aroused. He was dazed and moved in and out of sleep, sweat breaking out when the fever would rise too high. He could still tolerate my body near him and let me lay tucked along his side, bathing him with a cool cloth. He even let me stroke his restless cock. I made him come, but it didn't really help. He winced from my touch, and never got soft after ejaculating. By nightfall, he wouldn't allow me near his erection though he still let me hold him. Charles made me leave the room when I started to cry. I silently cursed Jim Kirk.

The next day was worse. His body was flushed from crotch to throat, the fever worsening into hourly sweats. His poor body was in torment, erection straining with the fever. Spock could tolerate no one near him but Charles who would bring him food that he wouldn't touch, water and tea that he drank by the gallon. By that night he was up out of the bed and raving. It started with him pacing the room, trying to open the door that Charles had cautioned must be kept locked. He called to me through the transparent wall--he knew I could see him and hear him. I would go to the door to talk to him. Endlessly he begged me to let him out. He cried, I cried. God help me, it was a nightmare.

"I can't open the door," I told him over and over again.

"Please Blue," he whispered through it. "I must come out now. I ... need to find him."

"Try not to think of him. He must be gone now, back to his ship." I knew that he hadn't. He had stood on our doorstep only hours before, trying to talk his way in. And he never strayed far, spending hours, according to Charles, at a cafe on our street, watching for Spock to emerge from the house.

"No, no." The pitiful sound of him choking on tears was like a knife stabbing my throat. I could do nothing but weep as I leaned up against the door. "Blue, please."

The weeping stopped in the night and the raging began. Every loose object in that room was hurled at the door, including his body, over and over and over again. Charles and I kept constant vigil. We waited in agony for Spock to exhaust himself. Finally, in the middle of the night he collapsed in a fever sleep. Charles drugged him while he slept so that he and Jordan could restrain him. Metal cuffs and chain; heavy, primitive things that we had for the sake of a trick who needed painful restraints to be able to come. They secured him with these to the bed and Charles sent Jordan away while he washed Spock and cleaned away the wreckage around him.

Jordan wanted me to try to force Spock to mate with me. I'd longed for it for so many years, not knowing what it entailed. Now I believed I would rather die. It wasn't the violence of Spock's desire that made me weak with fear. If he'd chosen me for his mate and was burning for me I could have embraced any pain to answer the call of his blood. But he didn't burn for me. I trembled at the thought of how violently he would try to reject me. Just my presence in the room was enough to make him crazy.

After a sleepless night for all three of us, it was Charles, the only one with a decent scrap of gray matter, who said Jim Kirk must be summoned. Jordan, faced with the sight of the boy he loved, chained and bloody on the bed, finally agreed. Even he was terrified by then. "Go get him," he told Charles. "Throw him in there and let Spock rip him to shreds."

The ensign was found near sunup at the cafe where he'd spent the better part of two and a half days hoping to catch sight of my brother. I don't know what Charles told him, but Jim came with him and rushed to Spock's room.

Spock looked and sounded like a wild animal, awesomely beautiful but frightening. How can a whole race of people have to endure such a thing? The rage of hormones had stripped him down to raw lust and wordless need. Choked whimpering noises, ragged moans were all that came out of him. His hair was loose and tangled in a sweated, snarled mess. His wrists and ankles were bloody in spite of Charles's efforts to pad the restraints. He was bruised and scraped from throwing his body against the door. His lips were swollen. He'd bitten the bottom one bloody.

Whatever Jim thought he would find here after talking to Charles, it couldn't have prepared him for the sight of Spock. I saw his face when he came through the door. He was stunned, and then nearly weeping, when he asked Charles to unchain his lover's arms and legs. Charles wouldn't do it. "It's too dangerous," he told Kirk, "he would hurt you."

Spock screamed with desire as his whole body yearned toward Jim. His eyes were flame. He pulled helplessly on the cuffs when the human boy started to undress. Jim dropped his shirt, the only piece of clothing he'd gotten off, and climbed on top of him, choking on tears, trying to cover Spock and calm him down with the weight of his body. Spock writhed under him, but stopped the pitiful wrenching of his wrists and ankles in the restraints. Jim took Spock's head in his hands and opened his mouth over my brother's bloody lips.

Spock shuddered and sucked at him. He was creaming Jim in waves of cum. It was dripping off Jim's pants when he pulled away to shove them down. Spock's body arched up hard trying to follow him, spraying him with another milky shower.

How could it keep pouring out of him? Charles must have been thinking the same thing, although he responded very differently than I did. I got a brutal erection, but Charles mumbled something about Spock needing fluids and headed for the kitchen.

I'd never seen anything like this and the sight was unnerving, even as it excited me. Spock was quenching himself on the moisture of Jim's body, licking tears and sweat off Jim's face and sucking on his mouth. I heard the first coherent words to come out of my brother in, I don't know how long, begging Jim in ragged breaths to come in his mouth. It was the same thing he'd begged him for three nights before.

Jim gave him what he wanted. I winced seeing his dick near those teeth, but he did it. He crouched over Spock's face bracing himself on his forearm, holding a handful of tangled dark hair. I don't know if he was trying to hold him still enough to point his erection into his mouth or just wanted the feel of it in his hand. He used his other hand to stroke himself into the restless moving target of lips and tongue and teeth.

I couldn't imagine surrendering my cock to that crazed mouth. Spock did try to bite him near the end, but Jim protected his dick with his knuckles and thumb, letting the teeth close on them. I don't know if he's brave or crazy or what, but he jerked wildly when Spock bit him and started to come. Spock's jaw loosened when the cum hit his throat, gulping and swallowing and Jim stayed there. I could see him panting, letting Spock lick the remnants of sperm off the head of his dick and the blood off his fingers. Maybe he earned the right to take my brother.

God only knows if Jim Kirk had ever had a dick up his ass before that day. I would swear he hadn't just from the sweat pouring off him as he tried to make himself sit on Spock's monstrous organ. But between the lube and the fact that Spock was creaming constantly, I don't think it hurt him as much as it scared him when it finally happened. He sat back heavy on Spock's hips, trying to hold them down and getting himself stuffed with cock. A heavy groan ripped out of him at same time my brother cried out, shaking them both with the force of his climax. It was the first time something seemed to make a dent in Spock's need. He stopped his frantic lunging--I swear his toes were curling.

Whether it was the sight of my brother's bliss-filled face, or the cock buried in his butt, Jim started to get aroused. Spock's eyes were adoring, his movements quieted to much more gentle thrusting. Spock was making love to him so beautifully. I hadn't envied Jim jerking off into Spock's dangerous mouth, but this was making me weak with desire, and miserable with jealousy.

I watched Jim become passionate as he discovered how to fuck my brother.

Spock dug his heels into the bed when the need for more friction overwhelmed him, trying to gain leverage. He arched his back and used his shoulders, every muscle in him straining. I could feel them both struggling to bring their bodies together harder. Spock's need to drive his cock harder into him became frantic. My body tensed with Jim's attempts to answer that need. He finally got his feet under him on either side of Spock's hips, and holding my brother's waist for balance, took him in as fast, deep and hard as he could. Jim's mouth was open, he was crying on every breath. I saw him come like that, spurting into the air with his thighs shaking.

I wanted it, I wanted it so badly. I hugged my pillow, squeezing it to quell the pain in my heart and my overwrought erection. I tortured myself by watching them for hours on end.

Jordan stayed away from the house all day and never came near the room until nighttime, to summon me to bed. Charles must have reported to him that Spock was all right. Jordan said nothing about him to me. It felt like a dream to emerge from hours of watching them and climb into Jordan's bed. I still saw the images in my mind while he was undressing me, taking off the short pants that were wrinkled around my hips from being bunched up around me all day. I'd been hard on and off in my panties for hours. Every pair I own Jordan has picked out for me, all of them sheer, pale-colored things. He likes to play with me through them. Sometimes he leaves them on me while he fucks me, just rolling the back down low enough to get in my ass, leaving my cock trapped in the front of them. I was already dripping by the time he touched me.

As much as I loved what he was doing to me, it was Spock and his human lover I was seeing behind my closed eyes as Jordan teased me. He was taking his time. He'd settled me down and stretched out on his side propped between my spread legs. He was studying me, tracing my dick through the panties like he meant to keep at it for a very long time. I think he was trying to distract himself from what we both knew was happening on the other side of the house.

In my mind I was seeing Jim bathing my brother's body, the cock miraculously almost soft under the damp cloth. It wouldn't stay that way for long, but God, what a welcome sight it was. I saw him fix the pillow under Spock's head, holding the tea to his mouth. Charles had come and gone like some ghostly butler leaving nippled bottles of the stuff the Vulcan craves. When I'd seen Charles hold one of those bottles to Spock's mouth the day before, it had seemed to me like a mother feeding a baby. When I saw Jim do it the effect was erotic. He was just as nurturing as Charles had been, but the look in Spock's dark eyes was deeply sensual, gazing up enraptured by the sight of Jim's face as he sucked. The liquid seemed to travel straight through him to his balls filling his cock once more.

Jim was almost as bruised and scraped as Spock was by the time he carried him out of here. How could I stop them? I should never have gone back in there. If I'd stayed away, Spock would still be here. But I had to see what was happening. When Jordan was finally asleep, deeply asleep, I eased out of bed and went back to the room to watch them.

They were hardly moving. Jim was on Spock's hips, just rocking gently. He looked so wasted, so tired. I wondered if he'd slept at all. I'll grant he's a strong boy. I guess I felt grateful, watching. If it couldn't be me, at least it was someone who was tender toward Spock, someone who was physically equal to the punishment of this relentless fucking. When the cock slid out of him, blessedly soft again, he repeated the bathing and feeding ritual.

Spock was much more peaceful than he'd been in days. Then I heard him call out to me.

"Blue, are you there?"

"Who are you talking to?" Jim was baffled.

"My brother, he might be there. He can see us through the wall."

I froze in my spot as Jim's eyes followed Spock's in my direction.

"Is someone there?" Jim asked, looking right at me without knowing it. "If you're there, could you bring me the keys to these things?"

"Try the door," Spock urged him. Their door was locked, I knew, watching with my heart pounding as Jim tried to open it. He came back to the wall, examining it. Then he stood with his palms pressed against it and I felt horribly exposed although I knew he couldn't see me. I could see *him* so plainly. His features were full of questions, concern. He seemed to look straight into me.

"If you're there ... help me! Your brother needs to be let loose from those cuffs." It was the closest I'd seen him. It surprised me to realize that he'd become attractive to me, that arrogant face worn down as it was with care for Spock. His golden hair was mussed up, sweaty. I saw how strong his arms were, his chest appealingly smooth. Jim's voice was compassionate and oddly seductive. I *wanted* to help him. I also wanted very much for my brother to be free.

I picked up Charles's keys and entered the trick room. So strange to open that door and see them inside without a wall between us. It was hot in there and reeked of spice and sweat and sex. I approached Spock slowly, afraid of how he would react, but unable to hold back. His eyes were on Jim, unlocking the cuffs.

"Thank you, Blue," Spock said quietly. "Come, give me a kiss and go back to bed." I knew the worst of the fever had passed by the sound of his voice and his tolerance for my touch. He pulled back when I pressed his mouth too hard, but at least he'd let me kiss him. I didn't notice at first that Jim was putting his clothes on; when I did, I thought--good, he's leaving. We don't need him anymore. I didn't hear what he said into his communicator. I was concentrating on Spock.

"Do you feel better?" I asked him.

"I do."

"I love you, Spock. Do you love me? Do you forgive me?" He gave me a warm look, close to a smile.

"Yes, I love you. There is nothing to forgive. Go back to bed now, I will be all right."

"Let's go," Jim said. "Gary's outside." I stared at him dumbly.

"Go where?" Neither of them answered me. I suppose Jim's friend had been on call for hours, waiting for the signal that they were coming out. Before my disbelieving eyes, Jim wrapped the bedsheet around my brother and picked him up in his arms. I did nothing to stop them, nothing at all. I followed them silently, all the way to the front door and stood there naked to the night air watching the two human boys settle my brother into a ground car and drive him away. It was so unreal. I stared at the empty street until my heart started pounding and the tears gathered in my eyes.

Oh God, it's almost light out now. I don't know where my brother is. I don't know what will happen when Jordan and Charles wake up. What's to become of us now?

I thought Jordan would either kill me, or throw me out, when he found out Spock was gone. He did neither. I woke to the sound of his voice, quiet and intense, and the smell of coffee. He was sitting up next to me, communicator in his hand. I was nothing to him in his anger; he never even looked at me lying in bed beside him. Charles was across the room, in his chair, his face averted. He was silent, both of them oblivious to me. I lay still and didn't open my mouth.

Jordan knows everyone in Lakos City and most of them owe him favors. It took him less than five minutes, a single call, to find out exactly where Spock was. And then he tore into Charles.

Only the stony silence betrayed his anger when he got off the phone. Then he suddenly sprang from the bed, throwing the sheet off, and in two long strides he reached Charles where the man was folded miserably in a chair.

I'd seen Jordan angry with Charles before, but never violent. Now I knew he was going to hurt him. The muscles were tensed in his back and legs, poised to attack. He wrenched Charles up out of the chair by his wrists and threw him against the wall.

*I'm the one who let Spock go!* I wanted to scream, but I couldn't make a sound. It was *my* fault Spock was gone. I cowered in the bed, frozen.

Charles let out an anguished cry, backed up helplessly against the wall, not even trying to defend himself. Jordan didn't yell, he didn't scream, but his anger was brutal; he grunted with the force of striking Charles, smacking him hard enough to knock him down, then pulled him back to hit him again. Charles never fought back, he slumped against the wall with a sickening thud. I struggled to breathe, my stomach clenched, my legs felt like the bones had dissolved. Charles was gasping for air and crying. Jordan pulled him up with clenched fists full of his shirt, leaning into him, his hips pinning Charles in a way that was frighteningly erotic.

"Oh God, Jordy, I'm so sorry," Charles moaned, weeping softly. My heart tore at the sound of his broken voice. *Jordy*, a name I'd never heard. Intimate, full of pain. It unnerved me.

Jordan stopped his attack; he was breathing hard, staring into Charles's face, still pressing against him with his hips, but his hands were loosening their grip.

Then Charles did something so extraordinary that I could hardly believe my eyes. He lifted his arms from where they'd hung weak against the wall and slowly placed them on Jordan's bare waist, his fingers curved into him --I could see them shaking! Jordan groaned with such anguished pleasure that it sent shivers through me. He cupped Charles's face in his hands, gazing into it. His body posture was changing, shifting, his leg sliding between Charles's. I sensed an incredible heat where their bodies pressed together, turning the men I knew into strangers, conjuring up a past that had nothing to do with me or with Spock.

I'd never seen them embrace, never even seen them touch.

"Oh God," Jordan murmured, and his lips parted, inches from kissing him. Charles's tears were punctuated with little intakes of breath as Jordan's hips moved against his, slow and sweet as honey.

"I want to kiss you," Jordan whispered. "Can you let me?"

*Kiss him!* I was aching to see it. Charles shook his head slightly, closing his eyes.

"Yes," Jordan coaxed. "Just a little, Bijou, just a little. You can." He angled Charles's head, turning it more toward me and I saw the handsome face suffused with deep sorrow. Jordan had called him, *Bijou*, jewel, and the sparkling name fit him.

I'd never questioned Charles's sexless reality; I thought he was above physical need, beyond it, somehow miraculously free of it. Now I saw, with gut-wrenching clarity, that he was not free, he was terrified, and Jordan was intimately acquainted with his fear.

He touched his lips to Charles's gently, barely pressing and moving away, pressing again and lingering, using the tip of his tongue to try to part the man's lips. My mouth was watering, watching them. I had never, ever, seen Jordan so tender, not even with Spock. When Charles's lips finally parted, Jordan moaned, his hips pressing him tighter, but keeping his kiss soft and restrained. Charles was trembling, his fingers spread on Jordan's waist. One hand dropped awkwardly, and then fluttered up in the air, coming to rest higher on Jordan's back.

Jordan relinquished Charles's mouth to bathe the side of his face and his neck with open-mouthed kisses. It wasn't Charles I saw then, it was a creature I had never met, so vulnerable and sensuous that I longed to crush his mouth with mine. Then his eyes opened to the sight of me staring at them.

"Blue!" he gasped with alarm.

Jordan glanced at me briefly over his shoulder, and turned back to Charles, capturing his face in his hands.

"I'll send Blue to Spock, it's all right." Without looking at me, he commanded, "Blue, take credits and my communicator. The address is in there. Tell Spock ... tell him I need to talk to him." Jordan's voice was barely controlled, I knew from the way his hips moved, though they hardly moved at all, that he was choking on desire. "Go."

I scrambled out of there and ran to my room, my brain and body both on fire. Jordan was sending *me* to Spock. It was unbelievable! He'd never even let me leave our neighborhood by myself! He should have been the one to go. The reason he *wasn't*, staggered me. *Jordan and Charles!* My brain was in overdrive.

I rustled nervously through my drawer for clothes. It felt like it was taking forever to do the simplest thing as I warred between nervousness at my unprecedented task and wonder at the scene I'd just witnessed. My cock was still swollen from watching them. When I pulled up my underpants I had to force it in sideways and couldn't help stroking myself for a moment. I wanted so badly to sneak back into Jordan's bedroom and see what they were doing. *Charles*, my God. How could it be, that suddenly nothing mattered to Jordan but *him*? Charles's shaking hands were still vivid in my mind, the look of pitiful surrender on his face, the tender kisses. I forced myself to let go of my unruly flesh and finish dressing. My trousers fluttered loosely around me and I pulled a long shirt down over them, hoping to mask the arousal that was becoming a throbbing ache between my legs. I had to get to Spock. If I could just get to my brother, see his beloved familiar face, the world might stop spinning.

\------------------------------

Hampton Court, Crescent City, Dr. Leonard McCoy--that was the address in Jordan's communicator. The truth is, for all my trepidation,

it wasn't hard to find a taxi. There was one parked by the cafe down the street. All I had to do was make myself approach it and give the address. The driver smiled, told me to get it, and whisked me through the city. A miracle, sitting alone in a ground car with a stranger, like I had every right in the world to be going somewhere by myself!

The woman in the streetside office of Hampton Court was very nice to me and gave me a map with the path to the doctor's cottage. The Crescent is a mile-long, curving spit of sand jutting out into the bay, lined with cottage resorts, inns, and bars. I'd always thought, looking at it from a distance, that it would be a horrible place to stay, that the cottages were too tiny for comfort. Up close they seemed cozier and more inviting, each with its own claim to the beach. The season wasn't hot enough for swimming and most of the cottages I passed seemed empty. I was headed for the last white beach cottage, one of six just like it. The sand was warm in the sun, even though the day was cool. Feeling brave and adventurous, nearing the door of my goal, I stepped out of my shoes to feel the warmth on my bare feet, when a voice made me jump.

"I wouldn't go in there." For all my new-found boldness, I was still skittish enough that the sound shot me into the air. And then I saw who'd spoken. I'd walked right past a young man lying on a lounge chair, a Terran, stretched out in the sun between the last two cottages, looking at me. He was smiling.

"Excuse me," I said, and I felt myself blushing at being caught in such an awkward stance. Was he Dr. Leonard McCoy? He didn't look like a doctor, in his white jeans and baggy blue sweater. He was smiling in an amiable way. What struck me most were his intensely blue eyes. Maybe it was the sweater bringing out the color, but they were much brighter than mine. He had dark hair that was much too long and messy for a Federation officer. I don't know why I found that comforting, but I did. In fact, everything about him expressed ease and comfort, his sprawling posture, his friendly expression. I searched for a sign in those blue eyes that he might have some comfort to give. His gaze was curious, appraising--like he was trying to figure me out.

"I need to see my brother," I told him, reaching to open the door.

"Wait!" He got up from the lounge chair with surprising speed, slowing down when he realized I wasn't going in, though my hand was on the doorknob. He came straight up to me and put his hands on my shoulders, drawing me away from the door. He peered down into my face. "Who is your brother?"

"Spock," I said, fascinated that he was standing so close to me, searching my face with so much interest. "Are you Dr. Leonard McCoy?" Up close, I thought I smelled a hint of alcohol on his breath. Well, I supposed he could be a doctor on vacation, but a friend of Jim Kirk? He was older than Jim, so different.

There were infinite questions in his weary, handsome face, and that *did* make him seem like a doctor, like someone who was trained to use his eyes as an instrument. *Yes* I wanted to say, figure me out, and then tell me the answer.

"I am," he said, finally. "Your brother's here, but I don't think this is a good time for you to see him."

"I *need* to see him. I have a message for him."

"He's asleep now. I could give him the message for you." Then Spock called out to me from inside, hearing my voice. The doctor and I both looked at the door, and I opened it.

Dark and shadowy inside, in contrast with the bright sun, the cottage looked like a dollhouse, a home shrunk down to the size of a room. One corner was a kitchen, in the middle was a sitting area with a couch and chairs, and on the far wall was a bed. I could see Spock there, as my eyes adjusted to the light, curled up on his side with a cover loose at his hips. I could see Jim sound asleep, tucked behind him. My eyes burned at the sight of my brother, as if he'd been gone years, not hours, my arms ached for him.

I went to him, kneeling on the gritty floor next to the bed, searching for some part of him Jim wasn't touching that I could put my hands on. Spock was bathed, his hair loose and clean, his wrists tender-looking, but no longer bloody. The fever seemed to be gone completely; it was my brother's calm face, familiar. The look in his eyes was gentle with the affection I craved.

"Jordan wants to talk to you Spock."

"I will talk to him, Blue," he said. "But I won't go back." Careful not to touch Jim, I spread my hand over Spock's warm chest, getting my fingertips close to his armpit. As in the past, before the *pon farr*, Spock indulged me. He stroked the back of my neck when I kissed him. I was grazing his lips with the tip of my tongue when he exhaled sharply, and gripped the back of my neck. His sudden response was not for my kiss, however. Jim was stirring, waking up, and his movements sparked my brother with passion. For bittersweet moments I enjoyed the kiss that should have been Kirk's, my brother's lips pursed into a beautiful soft nest for my tongue to slide in and out of. As many kisses as I've shared

with him through the years, I'd never felt anything like this bloom of welcoming heat. I've never been inside him but I thought about it then. His yielding mouth made my dick want to slide in his silky ass, to penetrate both warm, wet, openings of his body at the same time. Jim took him back then, as if he knew I was stealing from him, his hand moved, gliding up Spock's stomach. Spock eased away from me, turning onto his back, offering his lips to the one who'd made them so supple with desire. But Jim didn't kiss him. He must have wanted to, but he was looking at me, and beyond me, at McCoy, who was still in the doorway.

"They're brothers?" I heard McCoy's voice behind me.

"Not ... exactly," Jim said.

"I see," McCoy's voice was an ironic drawl.

"I doubt very much that you do, Doctor," my brother said.

Jim sat up. He ran his hands through his hair, he rubbed his face and I could see that the sleep he'd gotten wasn't enough. He glanced at me again, catching me staring at him, still on my knees next to the bed. He seemed to find me as baffling as McCoy did, but more like a problem, or challenge to be solved, than a mystery. He looked from me to McCoy and said, "Could you take him somewhere for awhile? I just need a little more time."

I didn't want to leave Spock and I looked at my brother, pleading with my eyes. I curved forward toward his chest, wanting to sink down into his arms. He stroked my arm but didn't reach out to hold me.

"It will be all right Blue," he told me. "You can go with McCoy and come back in a little while."

"I need to talk to you, Spock, about what's going on at home, about Jordan and Charles." I put my hand on his chest, hanging my head down sullenly, stubbornly, but Jim was lying down again, restaking his claim on Spock.

"We will talk later," Spock said. "I promise."

The doctor was quiet walking up behind me, but I heard him. He bent down close and whispered, "Come outside with me now." I shook my head a little and didn't get up. He had no right to make me leave my brother!

But when I felt his hands on my waist, lifting, I didn't fight him. I let him help me up to my feet and guide me out the open door, with his hand on my shoulder. There was compassion in his touch and I was very, very much in need of it--even if it was coming from a stranger.

The sunshine was brilliant, almost blinding, when we first emerged. He let go of me at the door, heading back to his lounge chair. I followed him. I guess I made it plain enough I wanted to sit with him by the way I stood so close; he moved his legs to make room for me. I pressed up against his bent leg, taking every inch of the cushion he'd offered and then some. His blue eyes showed concern, not desire. That would do for now.

McCoy was a boyishly put together man, wiry; strong enough, I thought, to bear my weight. What I wanted was probably clear enough in the way I was studying him; he didn't seem that surprised when I reached out.

"Hang on," he told me, taking hold of my arms. He sat up and for a moment and pulled off his sweater. "You're not dressed warmly enough," he said. He lay back down, opening his arms to me. The intimacy of the white t-shirt, warm next to his skin made me sigh. It was as soft as his chest was hard underneath it. Heaven, to feel his muscles moving under me as he tucked his sweater around me; to feel safe, even for a moment.

"Oh, thank you," I said, keeping my voice quiet, near his neck. He smelled like soap and there was a hint of whiskey and coffee. His own smell was musky and pleasant.

"Like to tell me your name?" He had a distinctive deep voice; the sound of it was soothing. His hands settled on my back. I wished he was touching me *under* the sweater, closer to my skin. I shifted my weight, finding a good way to tangle my legs with his and propped myself up a little on my elbows to look at him.

"Blue," I said, "like your eyes." He sighed, lifting me with the expansion of breath in his chest.

His lips were more ruddy than pink. His mouth was expressive, very appealing against his pale white skin and the almost-blue shadows of his face. All in all, too tempting for me. He saw I was going to kiss him and brought his hand up to stop me, pressing his finger against my lips. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said. "Why don't we talk for a little while." I don't know what he was thinking when he let me lie down in his arms, but I don't think he expected my warm crotch on his thigh or my hungry mouth inches from his face.

It takes much more than a lightly pressed finger to stop me. I ran my lips slowly down the cautioning finger, and back up, as my swollen cock got harder and I pressed it gently into his thigh. When I opened my mouth and traced his finger with my tongue I felt him stiffening under my hip. His erection grew, and kept growing, long and thick and reassuring. I licked his wrist and he made a small sound of pleasure. His hand was like a whole world to explore with my mouth. I gently bit the mound of flesh under his thumb and twirled my tongue over the bitten skin.

The doctor's hand was so sensitive--he responded beautifully, his breaths deepening and his blue eyes closing to slits, watching me. I ran my tongue between his fingers and his hips lifted with pleasure. He may have resisted letting me kiss his lips, but he was letting me have my way with every bit of his hand. My mouth opened over his knuckles and I trailed the tip of my tongue over the back of his finger. I sucked the skin into my mouth.

His free hand was sliding up my back and I groaned when it reached my neck; he was pulling me down to his mouth. *Yes!* He tasted my mouth slowly, at first, and then more urgently, and I sucked at his tongue, darting mine over it and around it.

"Jesus!" It was neither of us who spoke, our mouths were full of each other's tongues. "Get a room!" The voice was half alarmed, half amused. I let McCoy ease me away from his lips, but I wasn't happy about it. His hand was warm though, on the back of my head, settling me down on his shoulder. I was grateful he was still holding me, and to feel his erection arching up into my belly.

"I *have* a room, Mitchell. Is your timing always this bad?" McCoy said.

"Are they still at it in there?"

I realized it was the other ensign, Gary, and anger surged up through me. I could see his stupid, drunken face in my mind, see him fucking my brother. I tensed and started to pull myself up, but McCoy's hands tightened, holding me down.

"Bad timing, Mitchell." McCoy's voice was hardened with warning. "Very bad."

"All right, I get the picture, but you'd better get his ass on the ship by 2100 hours. Try to talk some sense into him." The last of his words were distant as he walked away.

I felt a horrible burn of outraged tears in my throat. I hated being reminded of why I was there, why my brother was there. I was losing him. The horror of Spock living among people like Gary, leaving me with Jordan and Charles--my God, Jordan and Charles, a world unto themselves, closing up around each other and sending me away so they could be alone. Spock gone, Jordan not *mine*-- it seized my heart tight, like there wasn't enough room for it to beat in my chest.

The sob tore out of me in an gasp, and I felt my eyes brimming over. *God, would I ever stop all this crying?* I tried to pull away from the man; he was a stranger again. McCoy wouldn't let me go, and I couldn't stop the outpouring of grief. I was mortified to be soaking his shoulder, crying hard, my nose running. I coughed and struggled to push away, but his hand was firm at the back of my neck and my body finally went limp. I gave myself up to it, letting him guide me to the hollow of his shoulder where there was softness to bury my face in. It was a relief once I stopped fighting him, succumbing to the forceful grip of his arms and hands. He seemed so certain he could comfort me that I let him. The convulsive clutching of pain in my chest and throat subsided as he held me. When the worst of it had passed, I lifted my head, searching his shoulder for a dry part to wipe my nose and my eyes. He drew me to the other shoulder.

"Go on," he said. "Wipe your face, I've got plenty of t-shirts."

"Thanks," I mumbled. "Don't look at me." I tried to hide my face on his shirt. "I look awful."

"You look beautiful. Here." He wiped stray moisture from the side of my eye with his thumb. His face was so near mine. It was scary to be watched so closely, but his eyes were caring and full of desire. It made my heart open up, and I *felt* beautiful, cared for. He stroked my cheek where he'd blotted the tears, and I became aware of the firm presence of his erection under me.

"You are ... irresistible," he said.

//*Oh God!*// I was afraid I might start crying again. He held my head and kissed me. As soon as my tongue twined with his, the blood started coursing back into my crotch. I was filling, aching, and it felt so good to press into him. Our kissing became hungrier as I moved, my erection sliding over his, trying to rub the whole length of it.

I wanted to see his body, put his cock in my mouth, but it was impossible to stop kissing him! I was so aroused that every pressure between my legs was exquisite. I had his t-shirt twisted in my hands, rocking my hips, and from my bellybutton downward, I was hot need. His hand cupped around my ass and when he squeezed me I groaned, lifting into his hand. His fingers dug urgently into the seam of the thin cloth between my cheeks.

"Fuck me. Fuck me right here," I begged.

"Take a deep breath," he said, his hand flattening out on my butt, quieting, rather than inciting me. It almost hurt to be still, to concentrate on breathing, but I did it. My heart was thundering. His hand moved up my back, under my shirt, tracing my ribs. I pressed my face into his whiskery cheek, breathing slowly, letting him calm me. My cock was beating as hard as my heart and I could still feel the memory of him clutching my ass like he was dying to get in there. He kissed me gently, but when our tongues touched, my legs opened over him helplessly, straddling his hips.

"I'd like to spread you out naked on a big bed," his voice was low and gravelly, making my cock cream, "and keep you there for hours."

"Days," I protested and he laughed.

He was massaging a spot on my shoulder blade that was making the whole side of my body weak with pleasure. "I'm afraid it will have to be here," he said. "We'll have to be a lot quieter than I'd like."

"I can be quiet," I swore. He brushed my forehead with his lips, his hand sliding around my waist, finding the drawstring of my pants and working it open. I turned my hips and reached down to help, fumbling at the top button of his jeans.

"No," he said, "don't touch me yet." I pulled my hand away even though I was dying to grab him. I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning as I felt his fingers slide over my bare ass, freeing me from my panties. "You feel so smooth," he whispered into my hair. He grazed his fingertips lightly between my cheeks, up over my hip and down. I was panting into his neck, twisting to allow him room to wrap his fingers around my cock.

"Harder," I groaned. He tightened his hand, pressing down toward my balls, stretching my hot skin as I thrust. I clutched at his chest as I started to fuck his fist. My mouth opened on his neck and I rubbed my tongue hard on his salty skin.

"Come for me," he urged, stroking me with his voice. I rubbed the head of my cock hard into his palm and started spurting. I felt like I owned the shoulder where I buried my face to muffle the noise coming out of me.

McCoy had gathered my cum with a purpose, to slick himself with the warm juice from my body. He prepared me as carefully as if I were a virgin. The first finger inside me was gentle, it stirred and probed and I curved up into his hand.

"More," I whispered and he slid in a second finger, more insistently. His breathing was deep and steady under me and his erection was like steel in the hollow of my hip. My body was relaxed and open, and he brushed the sweet spot inside that turned me into liquid longing. "Now," I pleaded, groping for his cock.

"Now," he agreed, hoarsely, opening his jeans. I lifted up on my hands and knees over him and watched him push his pants and briefs down his slim hips. The smell of sex stirred between us and I became vividly aware of being outside. I felt a thrill of alarm. Until that moment, I'd felt protected, invisible with lust. //What if someone sees us?// I looked around me, squinting through the sun, scanning the deserted path. His hand touched my face and I felt drawn back into the world of our bodies, glancing down at the rigid cock in his hand, it was long and thick and I had to have it.

"I've got to taste you," I said, scurrying downward. I wanted to feel it in my mouth and lick the swollen head. My mouth watered, my saliva dripped over him, and he breathed a sharp warning as his fingers rose up to block my lips.

"Come back here." He turned our bodies slightly to the side, one arm around my waist--supporting me and holding his sweater over me. His other hand rubbed his cock between my wet cheeks, searching for entry. The head was slippery, sending chills up my spine as it nosed hungrily to get in. I could have helped him, but the searching and rubbing were like teasing kisses before you suck a tongue deep in your mouth. I was so open that there was no pain. His dick pulsed inside me, stretching me wide and it felt too good for words.

My shoulder blades dug into his chest as he thrust. His hand was a warm nest for my cock. //Yes!// I was glowing inside, my body rocked with him, squeezing and quivering around him.

"You're so good." His voice resonated through my back. I closed my eyes to the burning sunshine, and felt the kiss of a breeze. //Fuck me, fuck me.// With stroking fingertips McCoy reached lower to touch at the edge of my skin stretched around his shaft, grazing my balls, and back up to my swollen cock.

"Come for me again, Blue," he said, teasing the head of my dick. His other hand was under my shirt, massaging my breast, finding a hard nipple to pinch. His cock felt so big; I was stuffed with him, rolling my hips, getting the sweet pressure on my gland, so good it almost hurt. "Come," he breathed in my ear. My legs splayed wide and I let go, giving every last drop I could give. He rubbed it into my belly, soothing the tremors of my orgasm.

I can hardly express how happy I was with him still hard inside me. Draped in his arms, melted with pleasure. He held my hands, twining our fingers together. He crossed our arms over my chest, gathering me tight, and began to fuck me harder again. He moaned my name, stroking hard and steady, and in a dozen strokes he came, soaking me hot and deep. God help me, I was weak with love.

The doctor was really the first lover I could call my own, somebody I'd chosen for myself. He hadn't paid to fuck me; he hadn't known me forever, like Jordan or Spock. I didn't feel the impact of it until afterwards when we were alone in the tiny bathroom of the cottage. I suddenly felt anxious, unsure of myself, acutely aware of having made love to a total stranger without the protection I always had at home.

The way I stared at him, you would think I'd never seen a man undress before. I was insatiably eager to see the body I'd just been so close to. Not at all self-conscious, McCoy took off his clothes and tossed them into the refresher without noticing that I was just standing there, mesmerized. As he pulled off the stained T-shirt, he ran his hand over his chest, ruffling dark hair, easing his shoulder muscles with a stretch. His pale skin fascinated me. I loved seeing the red marks I'd made on his neck and his shoulder. Naked, he was slender and wiry, slim-hipped with a small, round butt that I wanted to touch.

All muscle and bone, crying out to my hands, McCoy didn't have a spare ounce of flesh on him. His belly curved inward and, even soft, his cock sprang out from his body. He was clearly enjoying being free of his clothes. Anticipating some much-needed relief, he loosened his balls with one hand and grasped his dick. He pissed for a long time while I watched him in profile; he was relishing it, tilting his head back and lowering his eyes. I was still pressed against the door, keeping my restless hands to myself, one behind me and the other one knuckled under my chin. I was very aware of his cum seeping slowly out of me, my own, dried on my stomach.

"Are you hiding something from me?" McCoy asked in his curious drawl, looking at me in my awkward stance. I felt myself blush, a warm rush in my face and my neck. I shook my head and mumbled, but I didn't move, even though I was dying to touch him.

"Well, then ..." he said, moving closer and lifting the hem of my shirt.

I raised my arms and got chills from the silky cloth tickling as it slid away. He looked at me like a gift he was going to open slowly. A lot of tricks have looked at me like that.They want to slowly undress me and savor what they've paid for. For them I'm *wrapped* like a present made up with a little bit of rouge on my nipples, oiled, scented, and dressed in a costume that's meant to be taken off. But I'd never been looked at, or treated that way in the state I was in, my body so *used*, soiled and sweaty; certainly never by a man who'd already soaked me in cum. My pulse was racing as he touched my naked chest, the backs of his fingers brushing across me. It was hard to stand still and I pressed my hands back, leaning my shoulders against the door.

"You're so beautiful," he said, easing my tension. He touched my waist and loosened the drawstring of my pants which fluttered down to the floor, leaving me naked except for my underpants. McCoy looked down my body for a moment and then dropped to his knees. His ran his palms up the backs of my legs and his face hovered over my crotch, brushing it with kisses that were so light they hardly touched me. Like Jordan, he seemed fascinated by the sight of me in the sheer panties, but his touch was so different, almost reverent.

"I think I'll be seeing these in my dreams," he murmured as he slid them off of me and tossed them with my other clothes into the refresher. Then he leaned forward to suck my soft cock. It felt warm and safe in his mouth. I felt a surge, but only swelled a little as he bathed me with his tongue. It was the way he touched my ass that made me stir and harden in his mouth. He traced the shape of me with his fingertips, and stroked the skin under my cheeks, sliding his fingers up through the wetness. He spread me wide and one of his fingers slid into me as he sucked. My personal physician, exploring deep - searching for, and finding the tender, sweet spot inside. He manipulated it with a knowing touch, turning me buttery soft with longing. He let my cock out of his mouth, taking it in his hand, pressing open mouthed kisses to my stomach. Then he sat back on his heels looking up at me.

"You can't imagine what you're doing to me," McCoy said. "How it feels to touch you." This brought me to my knees, my body open and craving. Supporting myself on his shoulders I lowered myself onto the cool tiles with him, so grateful for his sweet words, his welcoming arms, the sight of his cock, hard again, *mine* to take.

McCoy was there *for me*, not for anyone else. His desire, his body, were godsends. I glued my mouth to his, straddling his folded thighs, straining toward his erection. He was still a stranger but his mouth was becoming deliciously familiar. He let me lick the softness behind his lip as I grazed his cock with mine.Then he pressed his tongue into me and I sucked it hungrily. His hands were kneading my ass, practically lifting me from the floor. I pulled away from his mouth and pressed a kiss near his ear.

"Fuck me," I said softly. "Fuck me now."

"Right now?" he whispered back, sliding his hand low to stroke my tightened balls. He moved his knees apart, spreading my thighs further and I rolled my hips into him with a gasp.

"Yes, now." He speared me with two fingers, a sudden deep thrust that drove me into him, moaning, straining my hips as hard as I could, gouging at him with my cock as my muscles squeezed him inside me.

It felt almost too good to stop, his fingers moving in me, his mouth hot. I tightened my lips to the thrust of his tongue. It was blissful torture. When I thought I couldn't stand it one more second, he held me steady in one arm, and started pulling towels down from the racks.

McCoy made a nest for me on the hard tile. There was no room to lay down so I crouched on my hands and knees, practically crying with need. I was so restless and demanding that he stroked into me hard and deep with his first thrust.

McCoy held still inside me; his hand roamed up my back, he rubbed the nape of my neck and then worked down my spine. His thumbs pressed into my buttocks, massaging me around him. I started writhing against him, wanting to be stroked and fucked.

"Harder," I begged and he answered me with his cock, pulling out further, and pounding back in. I arched and lifted myself to him, to be spread open, over and over again, as if I could climb up his body with my ass.

"Tell me to come," I gasped, wanting to hear him urge me like he did before. My cock was jerking with the need to explode but I didn't want him to touch it, just to make me come with his fucking. He dropped down over me, the hot weight of him forcing my shoulders to the floor, his cock angled on to my swollen gland and his face against my neck. The sweet, expanding pressure inside me was close to unbearable. "Tell me!" I begged.

"Do it." A breathless whisper, his strokes short, hard; as urgent as his voice. "I want to feel it from inside you!" His voice was like a hot hand stroking the juice out of my balls. My thighs strained wider and I strangled a scream, shooting hard, coming for him, every blessed ounce of it spurting out of me as an offering to him. I only wished I could have done it in his wicked, beautiful mouth.

He was panting on my neck, taking me hard like I wanted him to and I felt the bathing waves of his cum erupt inside me. I was crushed under his hips as the last spasms of his climax pinned me to the floor. My knees were screaming for relief but I didn't want him to move. He gradually unfolded me, and pulled me into the circle of his crossed legs. We sat there on the floor for a while, I was content and whimpered a protest when he said we should get cleaned up.

Weak as a kitten, I hung on him in the shower. He was so kind. I was in a dreamworld of soapy bliss under his lathering fingers. He washed my body, my hair, babying me outrageously, covering me with kisses.

I had traveled far away from my worries by the time I was dry. I'd almost finished getting dressed in my cleaned clothes when the sound of Jordan's communicator signal jarred me back to reality. I'd left it by the sink. I stared at its blinking light, not wanting to answer it, but knowing that I must.

"Blue," Jordan said, "is everything okay?" Did I detect a tremble in his voice?

"Um, yes. Okay." McCoy winked and squeezed my arm before quietly going out, leaving me alone to talk privately. Deserted, I immediately felt my uncertain future brought back into focus.

"Charles and I will be there soon. Is Spock all right?"

"Yes, Spock's fever's broken. He said he would talk to you, but he doesn't want to come home, Jordan."

"I won't try to make him come home, Blue. Tell him that. I'll be there soon."

I found McCoy in the small kitchen and was surprised to see Jim there with him, shirtless in a pair of jeans, leaning back against the counter, a cup of coffee in his hand. I was amazed that he'd left my brother's side.

"Jordan and Charles are coming," I said to no one in particular. Again that questioning look from Kirk, making me feel like an unsolved problem. I didn't want to say any more to him. I turned away, taking my opportunity to see Spock alone. He was awake and made room for me to lie down beside him.

He turned on his side, toward me, rested his hand on my stomach and I felt both comforted and anxious at what was to come.

"So," he said in a low tone meant only for my ears, "Jordan is coming." His dark-eyed gaze slid briefly toward the kitchen and back to me. "And you evidently had your way with the doctor. Did it make you feel better?"

"Oh, yes," I sighed.

Spock offered, what for him, is a smile. Sparkling eyes, a relaxation of his features. It made me happy to see my brother restored to himself, the passion of the blood fever gone. He was his calmly affectionate, reservedonce again, at least when Jim wasn't touching him.

"What did you wish to tell me about Charles and Jordan?" The question jogged me back to the scene I'd left at home and I remembered, with a jolt, what I couldn't wait to tell him before.

"Spock, *they're lovers*!" I searched for his reaction but found him only serious and attentive.

"I *saw* them," I said. "When Charles told Jordan you were gone, Jordan went crazy. He hit Charles!"

Spock's gaze grew more stern and he demanded sharply, "Is Charles injured?"

"I don't think so. But it was horrible. He was crying and Jordan was holding him and then all of a sudden everything changed. Jordan had him against the wall, and then, suddenly, Charles put his arms around him and, well, it was like ... like Jordan just fell apart. He started kissing him."

"You are certain that *Charles* put his arms around Jordan?" Spock asked pointedly.

"Yes! It was ... incredible." I put my hands up in the air and grasped an imaginary waist, trying to show my brother what I'd seen. "Like this, he was shaking, saying he was sorry. Jordan called him a name, Bijou, and starting asking, very softly, can you let me kiss you?" I picked up Spock's hand. I felt nervous telling the story, reliving it, wanting to impress him with what I'd seen, knowing I had to hurry because Charles and Jordan were on their way. Spock's face showed hints that he knew more than I did, but I couldn't read the meaning in his eyes. "Did *you* know they were lovers?" I played with his hand, anxiously. It was soothing to lace my fingers in his.

"Yes," he admitted. "Charles has told me certain things, in confidence. They were lovers. It was a long time ago, Blue, before we lived with them. Tell me what you saw, did Charles allow Jordan to kiss him?" I nodded and Spock's eyes were fixed on mine, as if he could see what had happened reflected in me.

"Jordan was slow and gentle, Spock. Charles let him." I saw it again in my mind. "I never saw Charles look like that before. He was *aroused*, even though he was scared. And he looked ... so ... beautiful, vulnerable and soft. God, I wanted to kiss him so badly I could taste it." Describing it, I raised my brother's hand to my mouth and he let me brush my bottom lip with his fingertips. I could see I'd drawn him with me, back into Jordan's bedroom, seeing the two lovers kissing with heartbreaking tenderness. "Why is he so scared, Spock? What does it mean?"

Spock didn't answer, he looked away across the room. Jim and McCoy, whose voices had been a background murmur, were now quiet, both of them watching us intently. Into this silence came the knock at the door.

Jordan came through the door before anyone answered it, his knock an announcement, not a request. Physically commanding, he was so tall that the room seemed even smaller with him in it. Sure of himself, he approached Jim and McCoy who were in the kitchen area, briefly introducing himself to the doctor. He nodded to us without speaking, Charles following in his wake.

In the world I wished I still lived in, Jordan would have been drawn like a magnet to the pair of us. Spock's half-draped nakedness, his arm around me, would have lured him and he'd have wanted to see which pair of panties I was wearing. //The pink ones!// If I hadn't been so securely tucked in Spock's embrace, I would have run to him. As it was, I hung on Spock's arm, feeling the curve of his forearm in one hand, and the smooth skin inside his bicep with the other, his fingers were under my side.

Jordan took possession of the couch, his knees wide, leaning back into the cushions. Jim moved to the opposite chair, his posture just as much at ease, if less flagrantly dominating. The ease, of course, was an illusion. The tension was thick between them.

McCoy was at the small kitchen table, his head at a thoughtful angle, hands folded in front of him. He looked up at me, giving me a brief wink, like a quick kiss. It tweaked a fluttery feeling between my legs and I wondered when I would be alone with him again. He looked every inch the young doctor, considering a room full of patients. A doctor! His *real* life, a life that took place somewhere else and didn't include me! //Don't think about it!//

Charles was tentative, his voice almost inaudible, when he was introduced. He hung back by the door, surveying cautiously. I studied him for traces of what I'd seen earlier, during the scene at home, and it thrilled me to find them. There was passion in his eyes when he looked at Jordan. //Spock must see it!// There was a new awkwardness in the way his eyes and hands searched for places to settle, as if his hands hadn't stopped shaking since he'd put them on Jordan's naked body. Charles has always been reserved, sometimes shy, but graceful. Now he seemed self-conscious, aware of his body and unsure what to do with it. His lips looked dark and swollen. They curved up slightly at the sight of me and Spock on the bed, and he moved toward us with those unsteady hands touching his slender thighs as he walked. He sat down close to me, leaning forward to peer at us. His hand alighted on Spock's bare arm.

"You look so much better, Spock. How do you feel?"

"I'm well, Charles." Spock's hand tightened briefly on my side and his eyes closed when Charles reached up to touch his face, laying his palm on Spock's cheek, long fingers brushing his cheekbone and down the side of his face. Then my brother's eyes opened and he gazed deep into Charles's eyes. The man blushed violently, his throat and cheeks coloring crimson. Was he realizing that Spock *knew* he'd made love to Jordan, or did he suddenly realize how sensuously he was touching the Vulcan? I was seeing *Bijou*; flushed, hiding his eyes, the lover who was so precious to Jordan that a single caress had demolished him. It was *Bijou* who pulled his hand away, in panic, from Spock, and crossed his wrists defensively in his lap. Charles's shell was disintegrating, breaking apart in front of us. The intoxicating, erotic energy of Bijou was escaping from him in every gesture, every look, every nervous breath; glowing from his caramel skin. It was almost impossible not to touch him, even though I knew it would send him leaping in terror. His lover rescued him.

"Charles," Jordan said gently, "see if the doctor has coffee." Charles nodded, relieved, and McCoy instantly got up to help him. he doctor's easy manner and soft drawl seemed to put Charles at ease, and they glided into smooth, polite, interaction in the kitchen.

Then Jordan turned to Jim, and there was only the barest pretense of cordiality.

"What are your intentions, Ensign?" Slow words. "Now that you've got my Vulcan boy, what do you intend to do with him?" My brother became subtly more alert beside me.

"I *intend* to get him out of here." Jim's bravado in the face of Jordan's sarcasm brimmed with self-assurance. He was almost smiling, daring Jordan to challenge him, to challenge his right to take Spock away from us. There was a core of confidence in him; I wondered if Spock had *seen* that when he chose him. It was magnetic--I'd felt it when I obeyed his demand for the keys. Whatever it was that Spock saw, that I responded to, didn't move Jordan. His eyes narrowed on Jim.

"And go where?" He sounded indulgent with irony, like an adult addressing a child. "You can't be with him, unless you're planning to jump ship. You're due back on the Grant at 2100 hours and you can't take him with you. Your posting isn't up for three years. What kind of life can you give him? How could you possibly take care of him?" Jordan's voice was hard and dry.

If Jim was surprised that Jordan had checked up on him, he didn't show it. There was a dangerous gleam in his hazel eyes.

"It's none of your damned business. If you wanted to ask me questions you should have done it days ago, before you chained him down and locked me in that room!"

Heads turned in the kitchen. Spock started violently at my side and my balls tried to shrink up into my body. //Oh God, he'll kill him!// I expected to see Jordan leap and Kirk's body hit the wall. But Jordan didn't move. His mouth tightened, his look was threatening, but his voice was deadly calm.

"You are quite wrong, Ensign. If I were you I wouldn't tempt me to show you just *how* wrong."

"Jordan," Spock said, demanding attention. "It would be more appropriate to address questions to me which concern my future plans." Our guardian dropped his gaze from the ensign reluctantly, regathering his focus. It had been days since he'd confronted Spock, since the start of *pon farr*, since the fateful night he'd brought Kirk into our home. So much had happened since then! When he looked up at Spock, Jordan's expression was transformed from anger to sadness.

"Spock, I never meant for you to suffer," Jordan said, finally meeting his beloved Vulcan's eyes. "Is it really necessary for you to leave?" He sounded hurt, loving, apologetic. But something was missing in his voicethat had always been there: the longing. I had never before seen him look at Spock without sensing his desire to touch him, to possess him. Jordan was no longer asking for anything from my brother but forgiveness. The terrible undercurrent of need had disappeared.

I'd never been able to erase that need. I'd calmed it with my willing body but never relieved it. Now, it was just *gone*. //Charles!// It had to be! More remote, more untouchable than Spock, Jordan's childhood lover had accomplished what I'd been sure was impossible. The feeling I'd had earlier, the sense that what was between them dwarfed not only me, but my brother, came back hard. In the kitchen I saw Charles watching, both his hands gripping the counter. McCoy was behind him, carefully setting down the coffee pot.

I felt Spock weighing his words.

"I do not reproach you, Jordan," he said with as much emotion as he's capable of conveying in words. "But it is time for me to leave. For what I want to do, it is necessary. My intention is to enroll in StarFleet Academy. Dr. McCoy has agreed to assist me." //*No!* My McCoy!//

"StarFleet?" Jordan questioned, his distaste plain in the way he said the word. "You're much too good for them, Spock, too smart, too beautiful. Is it for his sake? To be with him?" Jordan's low opinion of the Federation, the contempt he felt as an independent trader, was well known to us. I looked at Jim, bitterly resenting him once again; his gold-green eyes were hot on my brother, loving, absorbed; completely unaware of me.

"For my own sake," Spock said. "I have no bent for trade, Jordan, you know that, only science. An academy degree is the most logical way to pursue it." //No!// I was trapped in a tiny space of torture, aching to plaster myself to Spock's body and beg him not to go.

There was a sound of rattling crockery. Charles had spilled coffee on the counter in front of him, the fingers of one hand laced through a cup handle. The doctor was reaching around him to blot it with a towel. Charles's eyes darted from Spock to Jordan, and back again, anxiously. McCoy looked up at me but it gave me no comfort. The memory of fucking him, like a warm heavy weight in my groin, only made me more miserable and I twisted back toward Spock. //Everyone's leaving me!// I reached up into my brother's hair. It was heavy and silky and smelled of his spicy body. //Don't leave me!//

"Science, of course," Jordan sighed, resigned. "If that's what you really want. I'll help you."

"It *is* what I want. I was reluctant to ask your assistance for something of which you do not approve."

"I can help you get settled in San Francisco. I know people there. If you have to do this, don't make it harder on yourself, and on us, than it has to be. Spock," Jordan said softly, looking at me, "do you see that you're breaking your brother's heart?"

I felt it breaking. My dry eyes burned. Spock gazed down at me and just that much was soothing. He was reading me. He sees so much. His hand stroked up my side to my chest, resting over my heart, and his thumb caressed me. //Take me with you.// I entreated with my eyes. I didn't want to be left behind. I couldn't imagine being without Spock and now I wanted my new lover, the doctor, the one who was just for me.

"I would take my brother with me," Spock said. //Yes!// I wound around him, arms and legs, pushing him on to his back with my delight. He groaned at my weight but let me squeeze him.

"No!" Charles exploded, stopping my heart dead, mid-soar, with the sound of his anguish. I turned my head, under Spock's chin, afraid of what I'd see. He'd started toward Jordan, staring at him through tears. "Not Blue, Jordan! Tell him no." His voice was quavering. Startled by his own outburst, he dropped to his knees by the couch, folded submissively on his heels, one hand in a white-knuckled fist and the other wiping at tears. "I beg you, not *Blue*. Jordan, please."

Spock's hands spread warm on my tensed back.

"He burns," Spock whispered low in my ear, and I saw it--inches from Charles's clenched hand, he was painfully erect, his cock straining the thin cloth of his narrow-legged trousers. He was on fire! His trembling leg muscles and hips begged for release. He'd positioned himself vulnerably with his knees apart, thighs open to Jordan. His chest rose and fell like a lover straining for air.

"He wants to go with Spock, Bijou," Jordan said, reaching to touch his lover's tear-stained face, his eyes intent on Charles's mouth. Charles winced as the hand neared him, and Jordan stopped.

"No!" Charles whispered emphatically. "He can't go."

Jordan said just as softly and urgently, "Let me touch you."

"No ... I, I can't," his voice thinned to short harsh breaths and he wiped hard at his eyes, his body vibrating with need. From Spock's arms, I saw McCoy watching from the kitchen, felt his longing to do something, to help ease the suffering before him. Jim's eyes reflected Charles's torment, the gold of them glittering.

Charles's pain was unbearably erotic. Even without seeing the evidence of his arousal, who could not want to touch him? His subtly arching back begged to be stroked, his quivering begged to be soothed; how could you see it without wanting to feel it under your hands? //*Bijou!* Who hurt you, and scared you while you burned with lust?// Jordan must know! He was the only one who could answer the need crying out of the tortured body at his feet.

"Jordy ... my babies," Charles gasped through his tears. The fisted hand on his leg rose, fingers uncurling, near Jordan's knee. It hung in the air, inches from him. Jordan surrounded him, as close as he could without breaching the space to his skin, his mouth so close to Charles's that the Lakosian must have felt his breath as he spoke.

"Come to me, Bijou," Jordan commanded silkily, his voice shot through with lust. Jordan's eyes closed briefly as Charles's hand finally came to rest on him, and his brows tensed with pleasure. He slowly hooked his

hands under Charles's arms, and lifted him up as Charles climbed, now unresisting, where Jordan guided him. He curled into the couch, leaning across Jordan with his face still hidden in his hand on Jordan's chest. My cock was gouging at Spock's leg, as I stared at them.

"Bijou," Jordan murmured to him, supporting him in one arm, stroking, his side, his hip, but not touching his erection. "Spock will take care of Blue. You know he will, you trust him. And I won't let anything happen to them. I promise." Charles's weeping grew quieter, his breaths longer and deeper.

Jim rose quietly from his chair, looking distraught, heading toward the kitchen.

Spock's hand was warm on the small of my back, stroking tenderly. He was as moved, in his way, as I was, to see the love between our caretakers played out so poignantly in front of us. Their passion for each other, their love for us.

"You'll take me to see them?" Charles asked quietly.

"Whenever you want me to, as often as you want me to. Can you look up? I need you to kiss me. I *need* you."

"But ..." he gestured weakly, saying without words that he couldn't do it here, in front of others. //Oh God, Charles, kiss him!// I was dying for it.

"Nobody minds," Jordan assured him. "They want you to." Charles laughed, sadly. I wished I could see him when he looked up, but I could see his dark head resting on Jordan's arm, and pictured his face. I could taste how sweet their kiss must be. Charles's loose shirt draped into Jordan's lap, hiding what I knew was very hard flesh. I sensed it in the subtle movement of his body.

"Blue!" Spock's voice was a quiet protest. He was easing me off of him,

sliding out from under me, my erection a warm dagger that had been stabbing him. "Take that to your doctor," he whispered. "Tell Jim to come to me." My brother's eyes were dark with desire and I obeyed him at once, stealing quietly across the room to summon Jim.

Kirk and McCoy were both at the table, Jim discreetly *not* watching Charles and Jordan; McCoy unable to look away from them until I approached. I headed for his lap like a homing pigeon.

"Spock wants you now," I told Jim. There was a slight hesitation. I'm sure he felt torn between wanting Spock and being surrounded by unwanted company. But time was bearing down on him, and need outweighed everything else. I thanked God that McCoy was not hesitating. His thighs were a warm side-saddle berth for my butt, his very wise doctoring hand was already cupping my erection.

Spock was restless with un-Vulcan impatience. My brother's worshipful lust for his mate seemed barely dimmed by the passing of the fever. He grabbed Jim at the edge of the bed and unbuttoned his jeans, releasing his hard cock, tumbling him down across the pillows to suck him. All I could see was the curtain of Spock's shiny hair veiling Jim's crotch. The boy he was devouring grabbed hold of it in a convulsive grip, giving in to a lust that matched my brother's. Spock's hand possessively fondled Jim as he sucked.

"Is your family always so passionate?" McCoy growled into my neck.

"No," I moaned, moving my backside to feel his hard cock under me. My eyes were on Jordan, unbuttoning Charles's shirt, peeling it off, revealing a naked brown back, arched ribs and a play of muscle under satin skin. How had I never seen this before? His willowy long waist led down to perfectly sculpted hips. I couldn't believe how Charles was letting himself be exposed! He whimpered, but didn't stop Jordan when the hand slid under the waist of his open pants, easing them down over the curve of his incredible ass. Jordan was talking to him in a voice too low for me to hear, between kisses, and Charles seemed mesmerized.

I had to stifle my moans as McCoy bit his way up the side of my neck. I wouldn't be able to stand our clothes separating us much longer. The feel of his hardness under me was making me crazy. I twisted around to plant my mouth on his before wiggling away to strip off my pants.

Jordan had Charles kneeling beside him, now completely and gloriously naked, his buttocks resting on his heels. He was holding Jordan's wrist in both of his hands, his face pressed into the palm of Jordan's hand, as if no one else existed. For a moment Jordan looked over at me as he wrenched open his pants with his free hand. His eyes met mine through the mist of his lust, and his lips formed a kiss meant for me. Then his head dropped back as he worked to get his pants down his legs, his cock, blood dark, and upthrust like a dangerous weapon. He continued murmuring to Charles, words I couldn't hear. When Jordan was free of his pants he guided Charles over him to straddle his lap, feet planted on either side of him, knees spread impossibly wide apart. Jordan held his lover by his neck to kiss as he positioned his heavily swollen dick to enter him. I stood there transfixed, my hand on my cock, until I felt McCoy's hands on my hips, guiding me back to him. He helped me over his now naked lap, standing spread-legged, and then he made me swoon with wet fingers, dripping something cool and delicious over the cleft of my ass. //Oh God, oh God!//

Jordan's cock found its mark, and he held it there, without pressing in, his hands curved lightly over Charles's tawny ass, brushing the skin, until his Bijou took him over completely. He slid onto Jordan's cock and started to fuck him. He fucked like an angel sent from God to give pleasure, muscular butt rising and falling, devouring cock, grinding Jordan into the couch. His ass must have already been full of cum because Jordan's dick came out of him, glistening.

McCoy placed a chair cushion on the table in front of me, and I fell forward, my cock rubbing the smooth fabric. He stood close behind me, the fronts of his thighs brushing the backs of mine, his cock laid in the cradle of my ass, past the base of my spine, as if he were measuring how far it would reach. I wiggled impatiently under him and at last he stroked downward, the blunt head pressed in. //Yes!// I lay groaning, stuffed with him, greedily taking and taking, letting him do the work of fucking me while I filled my eyes with scenes in front of me.

My brother too, was watching Jordan and Charles. He lay on his back, now, but his head was turned facing them as Jim sucked him. He had his knee bent high, hooked over his arm and I could see Jim's hand under him, fucking him with his fingers. He must have felt me looking because he met my eyes. Like Jordan's kiss for me, my brother offered up a deliberate caress, shivering from the two-fingered stroke of his nipple as he held my eyes. //Spock!// Then his eyes closed, and his hand moved back down to the blond head moving over him.

Suddenly, Jordan forced Charles backwards. Charles cried out "No!" but was pushed down so hard that he hung precariously arched over the edge of the couch toward the floor. His spread thighs were pinned under Jordan's elbows, and his cock rose majestic and dark from his crotch. I could not believe my eyes as Jordan bent forward and managed to grip the head of it in his mouth, using his teeth and his tongue on him.

Charles screamed and started to come. Jordan sucked him until his own orgasm gripped him and he rocked hard back into the couch, forcing Charles down on his cock as hard as he could, jerking into him.

I could hardly tell my own climax from theirs, or McCoy's, and would not have been surprised to learn that, at that same moment, Spock came in Jim's mouth in the riot of orgasm ripping that room. All I know is, I soaked the cushion beneath me into a sticky mess and my ass was dripping with cum.

Jordan lifted Charles back up onto the couch and tenderly kissed him. Then he went toward the bed where Jim and Spock were curled up very much like they had been when I'd first arrived. Jordan briefly patted Spock's hair, and removed one of their pillows to fold under Charles's head.

I was draped, boneless, in McCoy's lap, my head on his shoulder, dripping on to the leg of his jeans which he'd pulled back up before helping me off the table. Jordan had settled back down on the couch. Charles lay like the dead, slightly turned away from us with his knees bent. Jordan's arm hung possessively over his Charles's legs and he was gazing at us.

"Doctor," he said. "Bring that baby over here." It made me smile to hear myself referred to like that, and I was delighted when McCoy lifted me up in his arms and carried me to the couch. Jordan nodded toward Charles and McCoy lowered me against Charles's stomach.

Charles gazed at me like I was a treasure! His eyes were tearing. I felt his arms wrap around me and he allowed me to embrace his naked body, his lips on my forehead. Could anything have felt sweeter? Jordan was petting both of us, his hand roaming contentedly.

Then I saw my beloved brother rise from his bed. Spock came to kneel beside us. He kissed the side of my face. Charles slid his fingers into Spock's tumbled hair. My brother's eyes were full of tender affection. Charles drew him closer until their lips met, and tasted the spiced flavor of Spock's kiss for the very first time.

I felt completely at peace, so well fucked I could hardly move, and so exhausted that I drifted off to sleep in the midst of their kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Aseret for reading, editing, and wheedling!


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